AFFIRMATION
by SayItRight
Summary: "Will you marry me?"  AU; Set post-"Pandora." Sequel to "CONSUMMATION."


**Title:** AFFIRMATION

**Status:** Complete

**Author:** SayItRight

**Pairing:** _Smallville_'s Lois Lane and Clark Kent

**Summary:** "Will you marry me?" [AU; Set post-"Pandora"]

**Rating:** PG-13 - For occasional mild profanity and for some mild sexuality.

**Disclaimer:** With the sole exception of this original story, I own nothing. I claim nothing. I am not profiting. I intend no infringement.

**Acknowledgements:** To the _Smallville_ writing staff, to Tom Welling, and to Erica Durance: Thank you, thank you, and thank you for establishing such a rich foundation for Lois and Clark.

**Continuity:** The continuity for this story, which takes place two years into Lois and Clark's coupledom, departs from the _Smallville_ universe as of "Pandora"; that is to say, absolutely nothing from "Disciple" onward happened as far as this story is concerned. The only events that bear on this story are those depicted on _Smallville_ itself up until the end of "Pandora," and those depicted in my three previous stories - "Revelation," "Illumination," and "Consummation." That said, this story is more or less self-contained, and thus demands no extensive knowledge of my other fics.

**Lastly: **"Affirmation" is as much a follow-up to "Consummation" as a prologue to "Veneration," my forthcoming multi-chapter, wedding-based fic. As such, I'd very much appreciate both feedback on this story and suggestions regarding its eventual follow-up. Cheers!

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><p>AFFIRMATION<p>

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><p>Every flame in the bedroom stood still, waiting with bated breath as a question lingered in the air between him and her. For months, he'd only ever heard it in his head. But now, at long last, it resounded in his ears.<p>

Slowly, though, it began to occur to him that the tone of the echo didn't quite match that of his inner voice. Taken aback, he blinked away the tears that'd gathered in his eyes as he contemplated the final consummation of his relationship with the woman lying above him. And yet, to his further confusion, all that his cleared vision revealed was the sight of an expression that exactly reflected the disposition of the candlelight illuminating it. She was holding her breath, waiting… Waiting for him to answer her.

"I did it wrong, didn't I?" she whispered, after having borne the silence between them for as long as she could.

At the sound of her question, the reality of the last several moments dawned on him. He'd come so close to saying the words himself. With her hand over his heart and her gaze holding his, he was certain that he had. But, from deep within the haze of his emotions, he'd in fact misapprehended the truth of the occasion. Her lips had parted. Her voice had articulated. And she had pronounced the question he never expected to be put to him.

The look on his face, however, bespoke less of his burgeoning understanding and more of his sheer astonishment.

Growing flustered, she told him, "I didn't mean to do it like that, I swear. I just need to, um… Just gimme a second."

Still staggered, he could only raise himself up into a seated position as she slid off of him, and then push away the covers a bit to keep her from getting tangled as she shuffled to the side of her bed. Having partially opened the drawer to her nightstand, she went about rummaging through its various contents, but the pillar candles he'd placed across the small table cast a shadow down over its edge and into its compartment.

"It's here. I know it is," she muttered to herself, straining to see through the dimly lit space. "This is the only place I keep it. It can't be anywhere else."

Just as her frustration began to constrict her chest and labor her breathing, though, she noticed his hand reaching past her, picking up one of the candles, and then holding it over the drawer for her. She stopped, and glanced behind her at him. Exactly as she might have expected, his eyes were directed at her and away from the only area of her apartment that had ever been off-limits to him. With a quiet thank-you, she returned to her search, promptly located and picked up the item she was after, and then, on second thought, grasped another as well.

Assuming from her having spun back around to face him that she'd finished collecting whatever she needed, he set down the candle and leaned away from the nightstand. Although, no sooner had he resettled himself than she started rattling off the first thoughts that came to her frazzled mind.

"Okay. So I, uh, I think you know I haven't always considered this a possibility for us," she began, as she sat back onto her heels. "Before you told me the truth about you, there was just - Well, for as good as things were most of the time, there was just always a nagging something that felt entirely not-so-good and it definitely put this outta the question…" She trailed off as she realized that she was digressing. Thus re-gathering herself, she continued, "But, ever since your big reveal, things between us have been… I mean, this past year or so, things have been incredible. More than that, they've been easy… Easy in a way that I never really believed was possible for any relationship…"

The last sentence or so to her sentiment had slowed the rate of her speech and ultimately caught her voice in her throat. She peered down, and he followed her line-of-sight to the items in her hands: a small, cherry-colored box that radiated in the light surrounding them, and a plastic, letter-sized envelope that drew her gaze for a significant moment. He'd never before seen either, and though he wondered at what they contained, his attention was soon diverted as she began speaking again.

"You know, I didn't use to think about this the way you do," she explained in a low voice, her eyes still averted from his as she grudgingly resigned herself to rambling. Indeed, the option wasn't ideal, but she couldn't imagine how else to occupy the time it was taking for her to compose herself. "To you," she thus went on, "what this comes down to is a commitment to intimacy and sharing, and the biggest way to express that commitment is to go on record about it. Whereas, had you asked me once upon a time, I would've said that this seems like a more or less unnecessary thing that most people only wanna do because they assume they should, and only go through with for schmaltzy, shortsighted reasons. I still think that, actually… But all the same, I've realized over this past year that I shouldn't let my opinion of other people's views and motives undermine my, uh… my agreement with yours."

In her periphery, she noticed him shifting about just slightly. Having grabbed part of a sheet bunched up off to their sides, he draped it around her naked back and shoulders, and then swept her long tresses out from underneath the material to let them hang freely. She warmed at his gesture, a symbolic act of solicitude meant to allay her discomfiture and to assure her of his attentiveness. As he began rubbing her arms, she looked back up at him and found him regarding her with patient indulgence. She could take as long as she needed, he would've told her if he could. But despite his present loss for actual words, she understood him just the same and soon picked up where she left off.

"All that said… To be honest, I don't need this. It's more than enough for me that I know where we stand and what we want. So, the idea of making us official seems even more…" She took her eyes from his as it entered her mind to rethink her phrasing. Shortly thereafter, she took a deep breath, turned back to him, and tried again. "What I'm trying to say is, you're braver than I am when it comes to us. You talk about me, about what our relationship means to you practically every chance you get and to just about anyone who asks. I don't do that… Maybe I'm afraid that sharing what we have would make it less ours… That's ridiculous, isn't it?"

He didn't answer her. He didn't have to. She already knew what he'd say. She already knew how accepting, how supportive he'd be.

With that knowledge in mind, she thus resumed, "But in spite of my hang-ups, I still feel the same way you do about what a huge thing it is to publicly promise more than just the foreseeable future to someone… And I figure that - hypothetically speaking - you'd be right there with me through it all, so maybe the process of getting to the 'ever after' wouldn't be quite so scary."

He lifted a hand from her arm to cradle the side of her face. She paused once more, lowering her lids and nuzzling her cheek deeper into his palm. When she eventually re-opened her eyes, she did so having drawn from his touch the last of the resolve that she needed to begin working her way back to her initial intention.

"I didn't mean to do it this way," she told him with a small, self-deprecatory chuckle. "I was thinking that if tonight went okay, then I'd probably wake you up for more of the same in the morning. And afterwards, I'd run us a bath and we could snack on whatever you were in the mood for while we soaked. And then at some point, I probably would've gotten around to, uh, you know… We can still do most of that, of course. I just didn't expect you'd pull this sorta thing - again."

She softly sighed in admiration of his efforts as she glanced around her bedroom to re-absorb its ambiance. As she'd left her bathroom and first perceived how he'd transformed the space, he told her that tonight was different, to which the color scheme he'd chosen would've attested even if he himself had not. Countless handfuls of red rose petals still lay strewn across the floor and bed. Clear vases of white calla lilies and long rows of pillar candles still rested atop her dressers. The scent of strawberries and champagne still imbued the air. It was a setting more openly amorous than any with which he'd ever before presented her, and it was perfectly suited to accommodate the experience they'd shared just a short while ago.

Certainly, she'd anticipated the occasion that followed that for which their night was intended to occur under somewhat different circumstances. But as she sat with him, feeling as deeply as he did the gravity of them having finally overcome what remained of his physical reservations, she found herself more confident than she initially did in having trusted the instinct that brought them to their present moment.

Clearing her throat, she slid off of her heels and scooted farther up along his side. "I, um… I had specific examples for why I'm sure about asking this of you of all people. But they're all sorta jumbled together in my head just now," she admitted, having started to open the envelope in her grasp. "I still have the, uh, the guidelines, though. They're not exactly mine. I didn't come up with them. But they were meant for me to use, and they're what my examples were based off of."

He took his hands from her arm and cheek as she produced a piece of paper and carefully passed it to him. The page was worn, limp, and tattered around its edges, which he assumed from the date in its upper right corner were the results of it having been frequently handled over the course of many years. Glimpsing at the handwritten letter that covered the sheet, he couldn't discern its author right away. But when he saw the signature at the bottom, he realized what it was that he was holding, and, having heard her mention it and its counterparts before, he appreciated every bit of the significance to her showing it to him now.

She waited in silence as he raised his gaze to the top of the page and began poring over the sentiments and guidance that it contained. By the time he finished, she'd watched his eyes mist over yet again, and she'd beamed from the inside out to see him so affected by what the things he'd read conveyed about not only her esteem for him, but also what another's would have been.

After having returned the letter to her as cautiously as she'd handed it to him, she slid it back into its protective sleeve and replaced it in the drawer from whence she took it. He wished he could hug her, if only to communicate what he couldn't yet say. But he knew his moment to respond hadn't quite come, as was borne out when she slowly cracked open the top of the wooden box that remained in her grasp.

In a voice as shaky as her hands, she whispered, "I really wanted to get you something, but I didn't know what it should be. So I just got you this." He instantly recognized that the size of the token she'd revealed would exactly fit her fourth finger, but before he could wonder at the necklace that appeared to be strung through it, she went on, "And, you know, you can keep it or you can give it to me. Or you can turn it down, I guess… But, either way, my offer still stands…"

She was terrified. He could see it in her blushing skin, feel it in her trembling body. What's more, he knew the cause. It wasn't from the fear of rejection that her nerves were so frayed, but from the fear of disappointing his hopes where an occasion that would never cease to reside in the forefront of his memory was concerned. But, as he couldn't tell her just then, there was no possibility that a moment he'd anticipated, planned for, and even agonized over could've taken place in anything less than an ideal manner when, for the second time that night, she held both her breath and his gaze, and quietly asked him for precisely that which he'd long wanted to give her - a lifetime.

To her compounded anxiety, though, he didn't make any immediate reply. Instead, he slipped away from her and got up from the bed. She parted her lips to press him on what could be so important right that second, but she was too confounded to utter a single syllable. Moreover, she was too distracted to even attempt determining his motivation by making out whatever it was that he seemed so intent on retrieving from behind the bowl of strawberries sitting on her nightstand.

As she continued to observe him in disbelief, he reached for her hips and gently drew her to the edge of the bed. Looking up at him, she finally found the wherewithal to insist upon an explanation. And yet, her words were entirely precluded by the sight of him, as earnest and as exposed as he was on the night they first met, lowering himself down onto one knee.

Her eyes brimming, she watched him loosen the drawstring that held closed the velvet pouch he'd earlier hidden away, and then slowly remove from within its bounds the solitaire ring that he'd been carrying around for months.

Having set aside the small bag, he took her hand, met her gaze, and, after a meaningful pause, answered her question.

"…I'd be honored to, Ms. Lane. If you'll have me."

As a single tear rolled down her cheek, an ecstatic grin blossomed across her face. Hurriedly, she pulled the long, thin necklace in her grasp out of its box, passed it over his head, and hung it around his neck. His elated expression mirrored hers as he took a brief glimpse down at the keepsake dangling low on his chest. When he peered back up, though, he was taken by surprise as her lips found his and she hurtled forth into his embrace.

The petal-strewn carpet broke their fall as they tumbled back onto the floor. He chuckled, and started to make sure that she hadn't landed on top of him awkwardly, but he promptly took from the shudderings he could no longer sense from her that she was just fine.

In time, she, her spirits just as high as they'd initially been, withdrew from their kiss in order to press her lips all around his face. He laughed a bit more, rubbing her back as she lavished him with her exuberance. However, quite contrary to what he'd expected, after having left a final peck to his mouth, she leaned away from him and off to their side.

"Whoa," he interjected, sitting up from the floor. "What are you doing?"

Reaching onto the open shelf at the bottom of her bedside table, she grabbed her mobile and turned it on. "You've gotta call Mrs. K.," she eagerly informed him. "I promised her she'd be the first to know."

Rendered speechless by her haste, he blinked, shook his head, and only managed to rally his wits when he saw her smartphone's home screen come up. "She'll be asleep this late. And I'm pretty sure she'd rather hear this kinda news in person," he reasoned, trying to dissuade her.

"Well, maybe. But I promised her."

No sooner had she articulated her rationale, though, than her cell suddenly disappeared from her grasp and she felt a slight breeze against her skin. Turning back around, she found him turning off the phone and sliding it under the bed. She scoffed, and shot him an indignant look.

"It's the middle of the night," he told her. "And we can't do that yet, anyway."

"Why not?"

He could barely conceal how amused he was by her glaring oversight, but he nonetheless kept his composure as he explained, "You haven't accepted."

She paused long enough to comprehend that she'd been too enthused by his answer to reciprocate with any of her own. All the same, the realization only incited her to cock her head and roll her eyes at him in a dramatic, mocking fashion. "Do you seriously need to hear the actual word?"

"Of course I do. In what world would I -" He stopped short when, to his incredulity, she shoved him in his chest to throw off his balance, snatched the ring he was still holding out of his hand, and swiftly got to her feet. Reeling, he stammered, "Wh-What are you - Give that back."

Giggling, she dashed off around to the other side of the bed. "Why? It's mine, isn't it?"

"It's for you, yes," he granted, standing up and taking off after her. "But it's not technically yours until you officially accept."

"Well, as an upstanding member of the press, I should tell you that I can't be bribed - not even with expensive jewelry. "

"Knock it off and come here."

She dodged his first attempt at catching her, scrambling away from his outstretched hands and darting over to behind the oversized armchair in the corner of the room. Fleetingly, he considered using his exceptional speed to his advantage again, but he could neither begrudge her the payback she owed him for taking her phone, nor bring himself to ruin the fun she was having with him. Thus resigning himself to traditional means, he tried to pursue her around the edge of the seat, but found the space too small for him to fit through.

She laughed at him, ducking down when he tried to reach for her over the back of the chair. "Did you ask anyone?" she smirked, taunting him by maintaining a conversation while evading his capture. "I asked Mrs. K. months ago. She got all sweet and drippy and maternal, and she's been waiting for an announcement ever since. I checked with Shelby too, but I think she -"

"- He."

"Whatever," she retorted, seizing a pillow from the seat of the chair and whacking him with it. "I think your mutt would've agreed to anything after the cuts of prime rib I plied her with."

"For the millionth time: Shelby's a boy."

"For the zillionth time: Who cares?"

Ignoring her quip, he resorted to another tactic in his endeavor to apprehend her, dragging both the obstructing piece of furniture and its ottoman farther away from the wall, and consequently giving himself room to navigate around behind them. She scampered off again, but the time it took her to circumvent the resituated footrest cost her, and he finally managed to circle an arm about her torso. As expected, she resisted him by trying to turn their game of chase into a wrestling match, a pastime of theirs at which she tended to best him. Unluckily for her, though, she had to leap up in order to put him in a headlock, which allowed him to catch her midair and to tackle her back onto the bed.

She conceded defeat by kissing his cheek and relaxing into the comfortable surface beneath her. "So who'd you ask?" she persisted in inquiring, while he began unfurling the fingers of her closed fists and searching for the ring she'd pilfered from him. "I bet you ran this by The General in spite of everything. You're too old-school not to."

He was well aware that she'd long since given up any hope of her father yielding in his disapproval of her relationship with a young man who he deemed decent enough in most respects, but nevertheless unsuited for and undeserving of his dynamic, ambitious elder daughter. Still, the two men harbored no ill will toward one another, as they shared the understanding that any open hostility between them would only hurt the woman whose happiness far outweighed their opinions of each other. Thus, as he told her in reply to her query, although he'd chosen to not kid himself or insult her father by asking him for the blessing he'd never give, he had made a point of sitting down with him in order to state both his esteem for her and his intentions in her regard.

She snickered at the idea of how tense a meeting that must have been for both parties. "How long before he showed you the door?"

"About ten minutes."

"I would've guessed five. Good for you two."

"Thanks." As he peeled back the last of her ten fingers, he proudly added, "Lucy signed off in a heartbeat, though. I'm actually surprised neither of them has mentioned it to you. It's been a while."

"How long of a while?"

He started to answer her, but stopped when he found her second palm just as empty as its counterpart. She gave him a mischievous look and coyly repeated her question. Narrowing his eyes at her, he rested his hands on her hips and gradually slid them up her sides. She understood the warning he was giving her, but she didn't back down.

Preparing to pounce, he offered her one last chance to surrender by taking the time to respond, "Since I visited D.C. with Mom this past March. A month or so after that first official off-day you and me took."

"You mean after we -" She jolted and shrieked as he made good on his threat and began tickling his fingers across her waist and stomach.

"- Yes. That's what I mean," he chuckled, redoubling his attack.

Before long, she reached behind her back and retrieved the ring that she'd concealed while he'd been preoccupied with ensuring that his tackle didn't result in her hitting the bed uncomfortably. Perceiving her act of concession, he promptly let up, allowing her hysterics to subside and her breathing to even out.

Having eventually calmed down, she mused in recollection of their first moments of intimacy, "That was a good night…"

"Yeah, it was."

As he'd quietly conveyed his agreement, he'd watched her gaze settle on the memento she held between the tips of her fingers. It was an elegant piece, distinguished by a platinum band that sloped into a cross-prong setting, within which a flawless, square-cut gemstone lay.

"They were all outta Ring Pops, huh?" she absently teased, still admiring the smooth lines and delicate curves in her grasp.

He didn't trouble himself with a retort; he was too anxious for her to pronounce whatever verdict was in her mind.

After another second or two, she intoned a low hum that conveyed how affected she was by his choice. "This is gorgeous, Clark," she told him. "You couldn't have done better."

He grinned, while inwardly cheering himself for his success, and explained his reasoning. "I figured you wouldn't want anything gaudy or complicated. But then, I was worried about going too traditional or too boring. When it came down to it, I just kept thinking, 'Unique, interesting, straightforward.'"

With a light laugh, she took up the diamond ring she'd given him and held it next to the one that he'd insisted wasn't just yet hers. "Well, I knew you would've preferred I get something to my tastes, especially if there was a chance that I'd end up wearing it. So I just went with what I liked best. No muss, no fuss."

"I'm glad," he replied, the ends of his mouth stretching higher still as he found corroboration of her initial praises in the striking similarity between the two tokens. "But don't get any ideas about switching. As much as I would've liked mine on you, I kinda prefer it where it is."

"Me, too," she smiled, reaching for his lips. "Did you get any help?"

"I had a couple of second opinions, yeah."

She didn't bother with delaying their kiss in order to inquire as to the names of the individuals upon whom he'd relied for their inputs. To be sure, there were only two possibilities. Where one was concerned, he'd grown too attached to her over the past several months to not include her in a process that held such meaning for him. And where the other was concerned, though their camaraderie was not as warm as the one he shared with the former, it was equally significant. Moreover, nobody but the latter enjoyed as keen an understanding of his prospective intended's discriminating sense of style, a fact that would've obliged him to consult with the man even had the tension that marked the beginnings of his acquaintance with him not yet eased.

The touch of her tongue to his sent a flutter of longing down his chest and into his belly. But rather than diminish his preoccupation with the answer he'd yet to receive, his instinctive response only sharpened his awareness of her stalling. Withdrawing a bit, he murmured, "How long are you gonna torture me?"

Impishly, she leaned up and nipped at his lower lip. "At least long enough for us to talk terms."

"You have terms?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Of course you do," he remarked with an exaggerated groan, rolling off of her and sprawling out on the bed.

She giggled at his feigned discontent and followed after him. From her altered vantage, though, she noticed with renewed interest the delights on her nightstand.

As he'd long considered her appetite to be one of her most entertaining traits, he chuckled at the sight of her beginning to crawl over him and reach for one of the two flutes of champagne. Still, he didn't wait to pursue the subject she'd broached. "If it'll save time," he thus declared, "we can skip any condition that involves you keeping your name."

Surprised by both his intuition and his assertion, she paused in the midst of placing the ring she'd yet to formally accept on top of its velvet pouch, and looked over her shoulder at him.

Observing the eyebrow she'd quirked in question, he clarified, "I've heard you lecture enough women and dress down enough men over the years to know where you stand on the subject. Besides, how I feel about you wouldn't change with your name."

"…You mean you'd miss calling me 'Ms. Lane'?"

"That too," he smirked, leaning up long enough to press a kiss to her hip. "Now, how much more arm-twisting do we have left?"

"Four rounds' worth."

Having situated the ring on the table and poured both glasses of champagne over the strawberries, she collected the bowl and lay back down along his side. He parted his lips as she used her fingers to feed him one of the bubbly pieces of fruit, and he then asked her to continue listing her demands.

"I wanna make my dress," she stated, chewing on a morsel of her own. "Mamie, Aunt Moira, and my mom all made theirs. Chloe even managed to glue a bead or two back onto hers. So I wanna make mine."

He hesitated for a moment, trying to grasp what she'd said, but still found himself confused. Turning over onto his side, he draped an arm around her waist to offer her his reassurance, and replied, "That sounds like a tradition, Sweetheart. Not a condition."

"It's both if it's bad luck, which is exactly what I've always heard."

"You don't really believe that superstition, do you?"

"Not really," she acknowledged, sliding another bite past his lips. "But I didn't think it'd be right not to give you fair warning - just in case a lovesick beast crashes our party."

Smilingly shaking his head at her peculiar rationale, he coaxed her onto her back and took the bowl from her hands. "Next term?"

With a deep inhale and an even longer exhale, she went on, "I would really rather not handle the planning. I was happy to do it for my little cousin, but the entire experience was just such a gi-normous headache, and the idea of putting myself through that again makes me wanna not even… Never mind. Once was enough. Let's leave it at that."

Having yet to hear her stipulate something to which he'd be even the slightest bit disinclined to agree, he occupied himself with running a dripping strawberry down the middle of her chest, while replying, "In that case, you can just focus on your dress and I'll worry about everything else."

"Are you serious?" she chuckled. As it was, she'd intended to suggest simply hiring a professional in both their steads. Thus, that he'd so reflexively offered to take solely upon himself the duties she was determined to shirk left her disbelieving.

Leaving the strawberry to her and lowering his mouth to the champagne, he answered her incredulity with enthusiasm. "Why wouldn't I be? I've kinda been looking forward to all that stuff, anyway."

"Do you even know what 'all that stuff' entails?" she snickered, noshing away.

He paused on his way up along her chest and considered the wrinkle she'd raised. But, refusing to dwell on the conclusion to which he came, he resumed teasing away the liquid on her skin, and casually admitted, "Not exactly. But I've read some stuff and heard some stuff. I get the general idea."

Loath to discourage his eagerness or to dissuade him from whatever joys he'd been picturing, she posed an idea to accommodate him: "Well, how about we still find someone to help you with the details? And I'll throw in my two cents as needed."

"Sounds good. What's next?"

"…A prenup."

His meandering path across her collarbone came to an abrupt halt at the sound of her response. Before he could start to assert his opposition, though, she threaded her hands into his hair and lifted his head.

"Listen," she told him, upon finding his eyes, "I know this subject makes you squirm, but the only reason I'm sitting on a fortune - a freaking _fortune_, Smallville - is because of you. So, yes, if we're gonna do this, then I absolutely want it in writing that when you and me become 'us,' what's mine becomes 'ours.'"

He hung his head, regretting his assumption that her terms would persist in their easy acceptability, and grumbled as he sat up. "Lois, you… You've done more than I could ever have imagined, let alone asked, with helping me establish and maintain my personas. And you deserve everything you've gained from the time and energy you've put in."

"But why do you act like you haven't been right there with me for all of it?" she countered, sitting up with him.

As the whirlwind of activity that'd marked the first couple months following his debut came to his mind, he covered his face with his hands and began rubbing his brow. It'd been a hectic time for them both, and though they'd anticipated the scrutiny under which he came, neither of them had expected the weight of the demands that were put on her due to her singular access to him, a man whose very existence redefined an entire world's understanding of the universe and whose selfless heroism redefined every one of his believer's hopes for the future. Indeed, she'd borne the brunt with patient fortitude, only wavering when, from time to time, she was confronted with a slanderous accusation about the nature of their ostensibly platonic relationship. But, at present, he couldn't help regarding those months less in terms of what he and she had achieved at each other's sides, and more in terms of the extraordinary lengths she'd gone to on his behalf.

"I didn't give all those interviews," he groused into his palms. "I didn't attend all those conferences. I didn't spend all that time on the road -"

Grasping his forearms and pulling his hands away from his face, she interrupted him by focusing on the time since the period on which he was fixated. "- But you transcribed all my notes for my memoir. You ghostwrote a solid chunk of the novel. And you've proofed and edited every op-ed and essay that I've cranked out."

Her detailing even just a few of the ways in which he'd endeavored to support her over the past several months made him all the more uneasy, and he averted his eyes from hers. After taking a moment to re-collect himself, he met her gaze once more and strived to maintain his stance. "Lois, I do that kinda stuff because I don't want my calling to consume yours. Because your career is so much bigger than its occasional ties to me," he told her, his voice both tender and firm. "Believe me, the peace of mind that you still have the absolute freedom to be 'Mad Dog' Lane, which we both know you get way more enjoyment out of than any sane person probably should, is all the compensation I'll ever need."

Having supposed she'd answer his contention with yet another of her own, he was flummoxed when she simply tilted her head to the side and regarded him in silence. However, as her face soon softened in reflection of her gratitude for his sentiments, his initial confusion morphed into exasperation at the prospect of her feelings' inevitably overblown and teasing expression.

"Aww…" she smiled, wrapping her arms around his neck and sliding into his lap. "Come here."

"God, you're impossible," he sharply exhaled. And, in protest, he dropped his hands onto the bed and refused to encourage her.

"I can't help it," she declared, leaning in to kiss him. "You say things like that and all I wanna do is make out with you."

He withdrew a bit, insisting, "All you wanna do is mock me."

"You're so adorable when you pout."

"I'm a grown man; I don't pout."

"Whatever you say, Mr. Macho."

She tried for his lips again, but he refused to reciprocate once she'd reached them. Chuckling, she turned to pecking her way back across his cheek, wearing down his annoyance with her affection. When she arrived at and lingered over his ear, he recognized her gesture as a sure sign that despite her understanding of his reluctance and her appreciation for its basis, she'd no intention of abiding it for much longer. Thus, he huffed his final breath of indignation and waited for her to have her say.

"We're partners, Clark," she gently reminded him, after having let a quiet few moments pass. "Even though you are who you are all on your own, we've both put a lot of work into how you're perceived. And, as a team, as a family, we should share whatever comes from that."

He closed his eyes and clenched his teeth, sensing his emotions stir and his resolve wane from the manner in which she'd characterized their eventual bond. "'As a family'?" he repeated in a hushed voice.

"Yes, Baby," she whispered into his ear, resorting to the endearment he'd always found most affecting. "And if it'd make you more comfortable, we could keep our _Planet_ incomes separate and just start mutual accounts for all 'Man-of-Steel'-related proceeds. That way, you wouldn't have to feel like you're encroaching on my autonomy, and I wouldn't have to feel like I'm the only one reaping the benefits of what we've accomplished together."

Her thoughts, reasonable enough as they were, resonated with him. Still, his qualms lingered, and he admitted, "I don't know, Lois…"

"We could contribute to charities. Children's funds and military aids," she suggested, naming their respective primary interests. "We could hire a few guys to work on the farm full-time. Get it back into full swing and give old Hubbard a break." When he responded with only silence, neither accepting nor rejecting her ideas, she perceived herself on the verge of convincing him and thus availed herself of the opportune moment to finally pose the trump she'd been holding back. "…And we could retire Mrs. K."

Her notion regarding his mother immediately brought his late father to his mind. Beyond question, he knew that the devoted husband, who'd passed without having been able to secure his wife's comfort and without having witnessed his wife discover a passion for local governance, would've wished her free to dedicate as much time as she pleased to the capacity in which she flourished. And when that predominant understanding was rounded out by what he knew would've been his father's desire of seeing their family's legacy, much of which had lain fallow in recent years, thrive once more, the incentives for agreeing to what the woman before him was offering were too compelling to resist.

With a long sigh, he turned to her and asked in reply to her ultimate proposition, "We could?"

"Mm-hmm. Several times over, I'm told." As he circled his arms around her waist and pulled her closer, she added, "I really think she'd be thrilled to get to focus on her politics and to not have to worry so much about the cows and chickens."

"She likes the chickens," he pointed out, laying his head on her shoulder.

Tenderly, she assured him, "I know. But she'd be able to take care of them at her leisure, not out of necessity."

In response to her heartening perspective, he began rubbing her back, indicating that he was, however slowly, coming around to her way of thinking.

Pleased by his acknowledgement and happy to let the matter rest for the time being, she pressed a kiss into his hair, and said, "Anyway, we don't have to work out all the details right this second. Just promise me that we'll definitely sit down, talk things through, and have a couple lawyers draw up paperwork no matter what we decide. Who knows, I may even let you have your own way on a few things."

"I doubt that."

"So do I. But it's a nice thought, right?"

As a small smile pulled at the corners of his lips, he tilted his chin up and kissed her cheek. "Prenup, it is. You have my word."

Despite his lightened mood, though, she heard him drone a low sound of discontent as he pulled away from her.

"What's wrong?" she asked, peering down at him.

"I'm not sure I wanna know what the last condition is." He'd offered his explanation at least partly in jest, but that she didn't directly answer in kind struck him. Looking back up at her, he found her regarding him with enough apprehension to eliminate the good cheer he'd tried to maintain. "Oh, great," he groaned under his breath, already agonizing over what could be so objectionable to have been saved for the very end.

Shifting in his lap to square her shoulders to him, she tried to deter him from fretting. "Don't be like that. You haven't even heard me out yet."

"It's bad, isn't it?"

"How are you defining 'bad'?"

Grumbling something she couldn't quite make out, he dropped his brow to her chest and took a long breath. After which, he begged her, "Just bottom-line me, Lois. Just bottom-line me."

"I can't. It's not that simple."

"That's even worse."

"Not necessarily."

Her responses, too vague to offer any kind of comfort, only increased his anxiety, and he felt the pressure against the inside of his skull suddenly intensify to the point of actual pain. "This is giving me a headache," he complained.

Humming a sympathetic tone, she slid her fingers into his hair and began massaging his scalp. "Let's just table it, then. We can talk about it tomorrow. During bath time, if you want."

"I'd rather we just get it over with now."

"Are you sure?"

He shook his head.

"But you still want to anyway?"

He nodded.

Having been given his grudging assent, she cleared her throat, rallied her nerve, and broached the topic of her final demand. "So, the thing is, I've always made a point of refusing to live with anyone who I was involved with. I have my reasons. You know what they are. And you've been really great about not hassling me on the subject. But, anyway… It's just that, seeing as I've never actually done the cohabitation thing, I don't know whether I'd be any good at it. In fact, I think there's something like a sixty-forty chance that I'd entirely suck at it. Which is, uh… Which is why I've been wondering if you wouldn't mind us -"

"- No. Please, stop," he implored, dreading the request she seemed to be making. Nevertheless, after a despairing few seconds, he raised his head from her chest, looked her in the eye, and forced himself to ask, "Are you saying that you want us to live apart? Even if we're -"

Vexed by his misinterpretation, she covered his mouth with both of her hands, thus preventing any further disruption from what she was already having a hard enough time trying to convey. With a deep, steadying breath, she then clarified, "I'm saying that my lease expires pretty soon, that I know how crazy you are about your building, and that you know how jealous I am of it… And, well, you have all that space, and you have that spare bed and bath. So I was thinking - I mean, I was _hoping_ that before we sign, seal, and deliver this relationship, we could maybe… practice."

She paused, allowing him time to grasp her implication, but, as the prospect she'd kept him from articulating just moments ago still lingered in his thoughts, he initially failed to understand her. Endeavoring to help himself along, though, he slowly repeated the last word from her lips and took care to judge the term solely in the context of her prior statements, without any further interference from his own fears or false impressions.

When the import of what she'd suggested finally occurred to him, she watched his brows lift and his eyes light up. Speedily, she tried to qualify her meaning, but before she could manage to do so, his excitement took complete hold of him, and he exclaimed into her palms, "Are you serious? You want to move in with me? You want to -"

"- No! No, no, no, no, no," she insisted, tightening the clasps of her hands over his mouth as she felt herself provoked by the connotation of his utterance. "I absolutely _do not_ want to shack up with you. That's not how I was - As a matter of fact, it's not that. Because even if I weren't my father's daughter, I still wouldn't make some outrageously juvenile move that entirely cheapens - Just no. God, no! No shacking up. No playing house. No living in sinfully stupid self-delusion. Ever! Ever, ever, ever. I mean, what logic could there possibly be in making a leap that big without having already established - You know what? There is none. There is no sound logic in the universe that justifies… I mean… Well, you get what I'm saying…"

His expression had changed - first, to alarm; then, to concern; and, finally, to contrition - as she railed away. But in the midst of her rant, he'd realized the mistake he'd made and how it'd affronted her, and had therefore rested his hands on her shoulders and soothingly rubbed them. Familiar with the gesture of his earnestness, she'd finally focused in long enough to perceive the penitent look he'd begun to give her, and had ultimately trailed off.

Having settled down, she lowered her hands from his face and pressed a quick kiss to his lips, both apologizing for the severity of her outburst and thanking him for his understanding of it. In response, he offered her a kind smile, encouraging her to finish explaining her meaning, which she accordingly did.

"What I want is for us to take a perfectly sensible and entirely constructive step forward," she slowly and firmly stated. "We'd be roommates - with _separate_ bedrooms."

His recent misgivings dispelled and his previous gaiety restored, he chuckled, "But we already share a bed."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"I don't know," he teased, picking her up off of his lap and laying her down on her back. "It just seems like it'd be kinda weird for us to share a bed, but not a bed_room_."

"Well, don't worry. It only seems that way."

"How do you figure that?"

"Because we wouldn't be having any more sleepovers than we do now."

As he'd long looked forward to the day when they would reside within the same space, underneath the same roof, he was too pleased by the occasion's probable imminence to quibble over the logistics of what would only be a temporary sleeping arrangement. Moreover, he found her characteristic circumspection where their relationship was concerned entirely endearing, and was all too willing to accede to a wish that would, in the end, allay whatever concerns she had about her ability to live in closer quarters with him.

Still, as he lowered his mouth to the curve of her neck, he chose to launch a perfunctory protest against her latest caveat. "That's asking a lot," he said, leaving soft kisses along her skin as he ran a hand across her hip. "Do you really expect me to stay in my room all night when you're just two doors away from me? You know how much I like sleeping near you."

Closing her eyes and enjoying his affections, she quipped, "I know how much you like smothering me."

"I don't smother you."

It was true - he didn't. As a result of his hyper-perception, which operated at an all the more heightened level when he rested with her, he could gauge her body's patterns and propensities, and therefore instinctively shift about to complement her positioning or to respect the proximity at which she preferred him; what's more, he could even unconsciously adjust his temperature to accommodate how warm or how cool she was. Add those facts to the appeal of his ability to converse with her even while he dreamt, and he was the ideal sleeping companion - which, of course, she'd told him many times before. But, at present, she was disposed to deny her former praises. "Maybe the smothering doesn't apply," she thus allowed. "But you've definitely started snoring lately."

"Prove it."

"My editor-in-chief prefers I expend my investigative energies on front-page-worthy news only." As she felt him smile against the hollow beneath her ear, she lifted her legs higher around his back and hugged him closer, while adding, "Anyway, how is your bellyaching even relevant? You're never even home at night. Not unless I'm there, which is hardly ever."

"Only because you don't understand the meaning of an open invitation," he whispered with a kiss to her cheek, alluding to how adamant she'd been about him having the experience of living in a place that was entirely his own. In fact, in the months since she'd surprised him with his high-rise apartment, she'd repeatedly declined his offer of her own key to the space, and had yet to make use of the drawers, shelves, and closet areas he'd set aside for her. Furthermore, despite the efforts he'd made in keeping his kitchen fully stocked and his videogame collection up-to-date, he could still scarcely ever entice her to visit more than once or twice a week. However, all that and more, he mused with considerable satisfaction, would change as soon as what was his became theirs. And he took care to remind her of just that when he continued, "But whether or not my 'roommate' has me banished on any given night, I plan on sticking around at least until she goes to bed, and making it back before she wakes up the next morning."

"How thoughtful," she retorted, her sincere appreciation nonetheless clear.

"My pleasure. But exactly how often will I get to enjoy your company through the night?"

"Birthdays, holidays, off-days."

"And at least a weekend or two a month."

Cutting her eyes at him, she smirked, "You drive a hard bargain, Kent."

"I guess you're rubbing off on me, Lane." The vibrations from her light laugh resounded against his lips as he wound his way back down her throat, and asked, "So when can everyone on my floor expect their new neighbor?"

"Not a second before you lock down a venue, get a guest list together, and send out save-the-dates."

Unfamiliar with the lattermost terminology, he checked, "Are those what they sound like?"

"Yeah," she giggled, tickled by how entertaining it was going to be to watch him learn on the job for the next several months. "They're just informal cards that announce what city and what day, and you're supposed to have them delivered as soon as possible so that guests know - Wait. Never mind all that. We're not done negotiating."

"I'm all ears," he assured her, dragging his lips down her stomach.

"I want half of everything. Taxes, insurance, groceries, chores - Well, maybe not half the chores. But at least a few of the common-area things that you can't knock out in twenty seconds."

"Water doesn't run as fast as I move; you can wash the dishes."

"Deal. Now, lemme think. What else…?" she wondered, as he parted her legs and draped one of them over the back of his shoulder. "Oh, yeah. Half the utilities, half the maintenance -"

"- Lois, stop," he murmured against her inner thigh. "We'll put your name on the deed and we'll split whatever you want. Anything else?"

"Well… Yes, actually…"

"Let's hear it."

"All right. But there's a catch."

"Which is?"

"That it's gonna mean you holding off on seducing me for at least the next five minutes."

With a sulking groan, he let her slip away from him and watched her head back to her nightstand's drawer. When she returned to him, she did so carrying an expanding file folder and a plastic bag, the respective contents of which she quickly began pulling out and laying down before him. Perplexed, he observed the various items from the folder: business cards, various emails and letters, permit applications, blueprints, furnishings and electronics catalogs, and what appeared to be several different pricing quotes. After which, he, all the more confounded, glanced over the items from the bag: fan decks, upholstery swatches, and tile and carpet samples.

"I don't understand," he slowly admitted, looking back up at her once she'd gotten everything situated.

Having taken a deep breath, she forced a cheerful smile and began gesticulating and articulating with nervous energy. He did his best to follow her, listening to her recount how his former next-door neighbor had dropped by to return several movies two months ago, while he himself had taken off for a short time to assist with a reactor meltdown in East Asia. She and his neighbor had gotten to chatting, she related with affected nonchalance, and it was during that conversation that the man mentioned to her his plans of moving into the smaller, more practical apartment across the hall in just a few weeks. At which point, she'd been struck by the notion of perhaps purchasing his soon-to-be available unit, combining it with her someday-to-be betrothed's, and remodeling the two into one space.

Finished with her initial descriptions, she paused for a moment, chewing her lip as she tried to determine the response he was having, but his blank expression gave her nary a hint. Unsure of what else to do, she resolved to attempt explaining the matter further and thus picked up a large sheet of graph paper to show to him. "I sketched this out a while ago. See," she said, pointing to various areas of a detailed, hand-drawn floor plan as she continued, "even if we expand your kitchen and living room, we'd still have plenty of space for a guest suite, a spare three-quarter bathroom, an office, a dining area, and even a laundry nook - not that I'd ever go anywhere near it, of course. But, anyway, we could also enlarge the master suite and even add a false bookcase or something, so that you wouldn't have to keep flying back to the farm every time you need one of your alien thingamabobs…"

She trailed off as she felt his eyes leave the paper and focus on her. Sighing, she turned to meet his gaze, and immediately recognized the probing stare that he always directed at her when he rightfully suspected that she hadn't quite told him everything. Thus, after a few seconds' delay, she was obliged to confess, "And by 'could,' I mean that I already okayed this with your building's management, locked down the contractor that Stuart used for the new Watchtower site, consulted with a few different interior designers, and, uh… Well, there's a reason why such a great place hasn't been put on the market yet… It's sorta already been sold."

His look of inquisition quickly gave way to one of incredulity, and she felt with certainty that there could be no reason for it other than his disapproval. Putting down the sketch, she anxiously tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear and began trying to defend her actions. "Okay, I know I should've gotten your input beforehand, but the problem was that I didn't really know when we'd get around to all the stuff that's happened tonight. And, I mean, this was just such a great opportunity and I didn't want us to miss out on it. So, please, don't be mad at me. Because when you think about it, none of this is that big of a deal. And if you hate the idea, then I can always just flip the apartment and we can forget all about -"

Her eyebrows reflexively shot up in surprise when he cut her short by capturing her lips with his. Taken off guard, she was initially slow to reciprocate. But, soon enough, she managed to relax into him - in spite of her bewilderment as to what prompted his sudden advance.

When he withdrew from her, she opened her eyes and found him regarding her with a degree of tenderness that left her all the more confused.

"Why the hell are you looking at me like that?" she plainly asked.

He chuckled, shaking his head at her frankness, and picked up the sketch she'd previously set down. "I just… I cannot believe you've been planning our first home."

"…Oh, god," she complained, finally understanding his series of reactions. "Leave it to you to turn a completely rational idea into mush."

Laughing harder, he wrapped an arm around her back and pressed a generous kiss to her cheek. "Don't try to downplay this, Lois. This is absolutely a big deal. You want to turn my apartment - or, _our_ apartments, I guess - into our first home. Our first official home! That's just so… I don't even know. I'm blown away. I'm practically speechless."

"So you're not mad at me, then?"

"Of course not. And I'll only be upset if you did all this because you've been missing me again."

"Seeing as you're practically attached to me at the hip these days, I don't think you need to worry about that."

"Good," he replied, nuzzling the side of her face. "You got help, though, right? You didn't try to do everything by yourself?"

"Nah. I left the bulk of it to Team Lane," she assured him, referring to her attorney, accountant, and part-time personal assistant, all of whom her father, a strict adherent to military values of structure and delegation, had insisted on hiring for her in the aftermath of the man before her's debut. "But you're sure you don't mind that I kinda went overboard - again?"

"Oh, c'mon. You know how much I like that you can't do anything halfway." He emphasized his acknowledgement by pressing his lips to her cheek once more, and soon had the satisfaction of feeling a smile tug at the edge of her mouth. Pulling back a bit, he held up the sketch, and asked, "Do you have copies of this? - No, wait. What am I saying? Of course you do. This is the original, right?"

Glad to see him so enthused, she nodded.

"Can I keep it?"

"Sure."

"Thank you," he grinned, looking over the sheet he had every intention of getting framed. Before he'd come up with the ideal place to display it, though, he noticed her starting to pack away the papers and swatches spread across the bed. "Hold on," he urged, resting a hand on hers. "You have to tell me about all this stuff."

"Really? Now?"

"Absolutely," he replied, propping up a pillow against the headboard and leaning back into it. "I wanna hear everything."

She chuckled as he assumed a position that signified his alacrity, and, after peering around the bed for a few seconds, she decided to indulge him with a more visual presentation, and therefore gathered up the plans, catalogs, and samples.

He could barely contain his excitement as she began illustrating the possibilities for what would become their home. As he soon learned, she'd been toying around with ideas for everything from the floors to the ceilings, from the storage spaces to the theatre systems. Still, her primary thoughts, she explained to him, concerned maintaining the contemporary feel that the architecture of their two apartments already featured, while still creating a cozy and inviting living space. He expressed his agreement, presuming just as she had that between both their mutual and their respective groups of friends, they'd be doing quite a bit of entertaining. And so, she went on to pose the variety of means they could employ to achieve such a cordial ambiance. Wood paneling on some of the walls, exposed brick on others, warm tones and plush furniture throughout - such were the kinds of suggestions she offered.

He found himself receptive to every one of her concepts, but he could tell that her desire for his contributions had long kept her from allowing any precise picture to form in her mind. Accordingly, he took care to convey a few off-the-cuff preferences of his own - a double desk in the office, an island in the kitchen, and an open floor plan for all of the main areas. Beaming, she wrote down his wish list and mused aloud about its feasibility, while also mentioning which of the interior designers she'd met with would, in her opinion, be most adept in realizing their shared vision.

By the time they'd finished throwing their initial ideas off of each other, the subject of a timetable arose. She informed him that the contractor had assured her of being able to have all of the principal reconstructions done within a couple months. But, eager as ever, he asked if it would speed things along if he vacated his apartment for a while, thus allowing the work to progress unimpeded.

"Probably," she said, gratified by the notion.

"Good, then. I can just put my stuff in storage and move back onto the farm until everything's done."

That he'd presupposed staying with her for the interim was out of the question pleased her, and she teased, "Or, you could ask Bart about crashing at his dorm. That way, you could stay in the city _and_ make his dream come true."

"The holidays are coming up. Mom would probably like having me around the house," he reasoned, tickling her for her retort.

Jumping from the sudden sensation, she dropped the squares of fabric in her hands and burst out into giggles. Sooner or later, though, she managed to squeak out her surrender, and he promptly ceased his attack, wrapped his arms around her waist and legs, and drew her sideways into his lap.

While she worked her way through the remains of her laughter, she watched him sweep his eyes over the curves of her face, relishing the sight of her ease and mirth. When his gaze met hers again, she could feel the earnestness he'd begun to emanate as he rubbed her back and stroked her hair.

Anticipating the line of his thoughts, she cuddled up to him a little closer, and whispered, "So do you have any terms?"

"Just the one," he said at a similarly low volume, reaching over to the nightstand and retrieving the token she'd rested upon it. "Do you, uh… Do you think you've decided one way or the other just yet?"

The flutter of her heart triggered his hearing as he presented the glittering piece to her once more. Finding his eyes, she draped an arm around his shoulders and ran a finger along his necklace, replying, "Maybe. But, you know, whether I accept could all depend on who's making me the offer: The Last Son of Krypton… The everyman from Small Town, USA… Or The Grand Champion of Earth."

"There isn't any difference," he promised her, his tone as solemn, as sincere as his sentiment. "You are the love of every one of my lives. And I could hope for no greater privilege, no greater happiness than an 'ever after' at your side… Will you have me, Ms. Lane?"

Her eyes swelled as she committed his articulation to memory. And then, with a smile and a sigh, she pronounced the only word that could've elated him as much as the four she'd put to him some time ago: "…Yes."

Exhaling the breath he'd been holding in, he slid the symbol of his regard onto her fourth finger and pressed his lips to it once it was in place. When he withdrew, she lifted her hand to cradle his cheek and gently guided him to her… Sealing their engagement with a kiss.

- FIN -


End file.
